Frozen
by heartsways
Summary: Based on a 5 sentence fic prompt where Emma had hypothermia and Regina was trying to warm her up. I asked what you guys wanted developed into a longer fic and you chose this one so here it is. Also, I said it would be about 1,000 – 1500 words long. I lied.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Frozen  
**Author: **heartsways  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Fandom: **Once Upon A Time  
**Pairing:** Regina/Emma  
**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.  
**Summary: ** Based on a 5 sentence fic prompt where Emma had hypothermia and Regina was trying to warm her up. I asked what you guys wanted developed into a longer fic and you chose this one so here it is. Also, I said it would be about 1,000 – 1500 words long. I lied.

Regina lingers outside the hospital room. She suspects she wouldn't be welcome anyway, not when Snow, Charming and Henry are all talking at once to a rather nonplussed Dr. Whale, asking him questions that he can't possibly answer. Regina knows because she's already asked them, already made demands that haven't been met and been forced to give herself over to patience she doesn't possess and time that Emma simply may not have. It's frustrating, and she wraps her arms around her torso as she sees the same emotion written across Snow's face in deep lines of concern. It bothers her, somehow, that she isn't invited into the room. She never expects to be included in Charming family business, but every time she's inevitably excluded, it hurts. And for some reason, the fact that it involves Emma's welfare only makes it sting all the more.

Her gaze moves to rest on Henry, standing in between his grandparents and looking between them with a pale complexion and wide, dark, worried eyes. Regina's heart clenches and she wants desperately to go to him, to soothe him and tell him that everything will be okay.

The problem is that she's not sure it _will_ be. The problem is that this is something beyond her control, beyond her ability to offer Henry the platitudes that she usually would. She bends slightly as she sees Henry turn and look at Emma, still and silent in the hospital bed. The look of yearning and terror on his face is enough to break her heart. And it's only after she's pressed a hand to her mouth that Regina understands she feels the same fear too. The fear of losing Emma.

The call came in the middle of an argument, when Emma was gripping the side of her desk so hard she thought it might shatter under her fingers and when Regina was standing in the doorway, eyes burning and lips hard with the ready insults they've traded a hundred times before, and will do over and over again. It's a routine of sorts, a habit – this fever pitch they reach. Emma found herself wondering, yet again, if this was going anywhere other than the heated, blood-boiling level of antagonism that she and Regina seem to stir up in one another. She always used to choose her battles more wisely: ones in which she knew she at least stood a chance of emerging the victor.

And yet, every time Regina marched into the Sheriff's station, Emma instinctively prepared herself for the continuation of a war that was unwinnable, a war of attrition that they waged every time they were in the same room. What really bothered her wasn't the arguing itself: Emma had faced some formidable opponents in her time so she became accustomed to the verbal barbs that people threw – she was also used to people throwing a few punches, too, and Regina was no exception.

But after Neverland, after everything they did – _had_ to do – in order to get Henry back, Emma had reached an understanding about Regina because she'd seen the Evil Queen at work, seen her snatch hearts and witnessed the might of her magic. But Emma knew that when it came to her, to their odd little relationship, then she was in no danger. Regina's bark was worse than her bite. The days when Regina had felt true malice towards Emma appeared to have gone, along with any real threat. But there was an alarming regularity to the visits Regina paid to the Sheriff's Station, almost as though she couldn't get through a single week without starting arguments that had no real beginning or ending. _Or meaning_, Emma added bitterly.

Emma snatched up the telephone receiver and barked a greeting into it, glaring at Regina who stood cut off in mid-sentence, mouth open and teeth bared in attack. A few, short, cursory words later and Emma settled the receiver back into the cradle, spinning around and snatching up her heavy winter coat.

"As riveting as I'm finding your endless, hugely descriptive list of my shortcomings," Emma snapped, "I have to go and investigate this call."

"Sheriff Swan," Regina glowered as Emma stormed past her and into the bull pen, "I'm talking to you – "

"No, Regina, you're not," Emma paused for a second and looked at the other woman with a resigned, aggravated twist to her mouth. "You're talking **at** me. Now, I have to go before the snow outside gets any worse and I end up in frickin' Narnia, okay?"

Regina looked as though she was going to bar Emma's exit from the station, hands planted on hips and nostrils flaring in outright indignation. Emma clenched her back teeth together, hating the fact that they simply couldn't seem to operate on civil terms, despising the fact that when she was like this, Regina was even more magnificent than usual.

That alone was enough to make her stomp around Regina and leave the Sheriff's Station with a lip that curled in derision – both of this endless clashing and of her own susceptibility to it.

Because it meant she was already much further stuck in this mire of feeling than she'd first considered.

Henry runs from the hospital room and literally throws himself at her, almost knocking Regina off her feet. He's bigger now. She keeps noticing how he's grown at the oddest, most inconsequential of times: his voice will dip to a new timbre as he asks if he can play video games; he'll reach shelves in the kitchen that he never could before and present her with jars of jelly she'd almost forgotten were there; his head comes higher up on her body than it always did when he leans in for a hug before leaving for school. Now he nestles it beneath her chin and she can feel him breathe her in, his shoulders hitching up and down as he does so.

There's a part of her that wants to stop him growing because she likes this – likes it when he needs her and when he comes to her for comfort and succor. When he was a baby, he used to reach for her from his crib, chubby arms outstretched and tiny hands grasping at the air until she picked him up and held him against her, whispering nonsense against the fluff of his hair and the warmth of his scalp. Sometimes Regina imagines she can still smell that baby scent when she drops her head and kisses Henry's hair. Sometimes she wishes she'd been able to arrest time to keep him like that, always. Because the older Henry gets, the less he's going need her. The less importance she'll have in his life. She simply won't matter anymore. So she wants to savor these moments while she still can to create memories for herself to keep like treasures, like the items she brought with her from Fairy Tale Land. Thing with meaning that she can't leave behind, no matter how much she tried to obliterate that life.

The irony of all this, of course, is that without Emma, without a broken curse, without all that happened afterwards and without losing his heart in Neverland, Henry would never have realized how much she loves him – how much she always has. And perhaps she's never shown it in ways that are comparable to other parents, but now Henry knows for certain that what she feels for him is real and as pure as it possibly _can_ be from the Evil Queen. And he returns her affection with a purity and blistering truth that is almost too much for Regina to bear.

Yes; Henry might be growing faster than she can keep up with, but every time he puts his arms around her waist and buries his head into her neck, that hole in Regina's heart is so full that it's almost as though it never existed at all.

Henry stands back and blinks up at her with wide, glistening eyes. He swallows visibly and lets out a shaky breath as Regina pushes back some errant hair from his brow and smiles down at him.

"You saved her," he says. "Emma, you saved her. You're a hero, mom."

Driving down Access Road 6 was precarious at best. Regina didn't have to, and it was a distinctly circuitous route home, but for some reason driving always soothed her. And after her run-in with Emma hadn't neared anything like a satisfactory conclusion, Regina was agitated, ill at ease. She wasn't entirely sure as to the source of her anger, nor was she willing to explore why she constantly sought out Emma for the sole purpose of arguing with the other woman. It was irrational, borne from the deep-seated fears that Regina had tried so hard to forget. But even magic couldn't withstand the powerful emotions that Emma evoked and Regina had succumbed to them as she'd succumbed to a destiny that had been guided by another's hand.

It was why she found herself navigating her town car down Access Road 6 instead of going straight home, distracted by Emma, by her desire to see The Savior in the combative, angry ways that she did. The snow that had started falling at lunchtime had increased throughout the afternoon, blanketing the outskirts of town in an ever-thickening cover of white. By the time Regina had lost track of the center of the road twice, she regretted ever coming out here in the first place.

But then, she was so often prone to regret where Emma was concerned. She'd told Pan that she didn't have any regrets but that wasn't _entirely_ true. Regina had experienced little else since returning to Storybrooke and a life wherein she shared Henry with Emma. It was far from ideal, a long way from what Regina had always envisaged. But there was a part of her that accepted it, even indulged in it a little. Some days were easier than others: the days when Emma would come to the house and the three of them would spend the evening together. It was close to sickeningly normal and Regina found that she liked those days the best.

Perhaps _that_ was why she was so angry, so resentful, so antagonistic whenever she saw Emma. Because it was _her_ fault that Regina felt this way. _Her_ fault that, for the first time in as long as she could remember, Regina felt the stirrings of something like contentment deep within her soul. She silently blamed Emma every time she saw her, every time they argued and every time that Regina was reminded that what could be given, could also be taken away. _Had_ been taken away before.

The car skidded a little on a patch of snow that had been flattened almost to ice; Regina clutched at the steering wheel and swore under her breath as she righted the car. Up ahead, she saw a vehicle through the snow. It was askew, half on what Regina assumed was the road and half off.

It was the Sheriff's cruiser.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

Snow marches from Emma's hospital room into the corridor outside and right up to Regina, stopping only inches from the rather alarmed brown eyes that widen at her approach. Regina's seen Snow like this before, but she's usually had a bow in her hand and a wildness to her gaze. The woman in front of her now is tightly buttoned, dark hair cut close to her head and clothes reminiscent of the schoolteacher she'd been rather than the royalty she is.

"How **could** you?" Snow blurts, and her lips are trembling, eyes brimming with tears.

"Excuse me?" Regina frowns, genuinely confused.

"My daughter," Snow throws out a hand in the general direction of Emma's room, "is lying in that hospital bed, suffering from hypothermia and concussion."

"I'm well aware of that, Snow," Regina responds, jaw tight and voice terse.

Snow rolls her eyes and snorts, tossing her head. It reminds Regina of those days when a young princess was refused nothing and expected the entire world. Only, nobody ever saw it; nobody ever knew what was sacrificed to give that young girl a companion, a babysitter, a substitute mother. All they saw was an innocent, demure, beloved princess of the realm. And Regina had been swept up in a world that existed to please Snow, where her father doted on her and ignored Regina unless he wanted what he saw as his marital right.

Regina shudders as the memory of it creeps inside her mind and her lip curls a little as Snow puts her hands on her hips. It's such a childish gesture that it's quite at odds with the stern-faced woman standing before her.

"Why didn't you **do** something?" Snow demands.

Regina's mouth falls open and her brow furrows indignantly as she shakes her head and wonders if Snow has lost her mind. "Perhaps it escaped your notice, dear, that **I** was the one who found Emma; **I** was the one who made phone calls for help and **I** was the one who kept her warm and alive until we could transport her back here."

"Sure," Snow nods with a jerky, curt movement of her head, "well you picked a fine time to start being a human being, Regina."

"And what is **that** supposed to mean?" Regina rounds on Snow with fire in her eyes and a dark look on her features.

"It means that you have magic," Snow darts back, "and that you could have used it to help her. But instead you kept her out in the cold because…what? Your car wouldn't start? That seems pretty convenient, doesn't it?"

The accusation is heavy on Regina's shoulders and, for a moment, she sags beneath it because it seems there's little to fully assuage Snow's resentment, nor anything that can heal the wounds that run bone deep. Every time they're both reminded of the enmity that exists between them and the hurt that there is no salve for, it shaves splinters from those bones to prick into their flesh, wounding them anew.

David Nolan appears by Snow's side, looking between them with rather more benevolence than Snow is able to show Regina. He remembers how Regina appeared when he found her car, clutching at Emma and stumbling over her words in an attempt to tell him that she needed transporting to the hospital, that she wouldn't wake up, that she had tried to keep Emma warm.

He slides an arm around his wife's shoulder and half-grins at Regina. "What's going on?" he asks innocently.

"That's what **I'd **like to know," Snow says pointedly, glaring at Regina then turning to David. "Don't you want to know why she didn't use magic to help Emma?"

"I…uh…" David's mouth opens and he's lost for words, looking between his wife and the woman whom he suspects has secrets with regard to his daughter. He's not entirely sure he wants to know what they are, and yet the distress on Regina's face proffered an explanation of sorts when he found her and Emma huddled together in the car.

Most of the time, David's life is about black and white; good and evil. He has beliefs that are quite clearly defined, polarized and they've helped guide him through his life, eventful as it's been. But after Neverland, where a hero and a villain saved a son they both call their own, David's understanding of good and evil has skewed. It's odd, really, how he's found himself more inclined to give Regina a break these days.

"Well?" Snow almost stomps her foot, nostrils flaring at David's distinct lack of support. "Why didn't you use magic, Regina? You always seem to have a fireball at the ready when it suits you."

"And what would you have had me do?" Regina bites. "Set my car alight?"

"If it would have helped Emma, then yes," Snow retorts, looking for all the world like a recalcitrant child.

"I **did** help her," Regina insists, but even she has to wonder why, when she had all of Rumpelstiltskin's tutelage in magic at her fingertips, she never once even thought of using it.

Regina pulled the blanket up over Emma, unceremoniously stuffed into the passenger seat of her town car. She'd learned from almost three decades of hard winters in Storybrooke that it paid to have supplies in her trunk when the snow was falling so thickly. Not that there'd ever been a _real_ emergency but Regina was fearful of those "just in case" scenarios.

She smiled mirthlessly to herself. How ridiculous to be prepared for the unexpected in a town where time stood still and nothing ever changed. Where nobody ever changed. How naïve she'd been to imagine that her life in Storybrooke had been anything other than a place holder.

And now, this. She looked down at Emma and tucked the blanket underneath the Sheriff's chin. Emma had been in her cruiser when Regina had struggled through the snow and found her, head planted firmly against the steering wheel where it had undoubtedly struck hard as the car skidded off the road. Regina had somehow managed to pull the blonde from the car and stow her safely in her own. Only, when it came time to drive her back to town, Regina's car wouldn't start. The engine groaned, turned over painfully slowly and then died altogether.

_Some hero you are_, Regina had chided herself, but she'd made two phone calls: one to David Nolan and one to Michael Tilman for the tow truck. She'd done the right thing. And yet, as she pulled her coat more firmly around her body and silently cursed the inoperative heating vent in her car, Regina couldn't help experiencing a hurtful pang of worry as she looked over at Emma. It was all well and good rising to the challenge of moving the Sheriff and trying to keep her warm, but one look at Emma and Regina knew she'd been too long in the cold. Emma's skin was white, almost translucent with cold. Her eyes were still closed and the cut on her head was already starting to bruise.

"Idiot," Regina muttered under breath, moving closer to Emma and daring to slide her arm around the other woman. "You're an idiot, Miss Swan. And now that you've got me stuck in the snow too, we're probably **both** going to freeze."

The temperature inside the car had dropped and Regina could feel her own teeth start to chatter. She clenched them together, trying to lean towards the surge of irritation in her chest rather than the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. It simply wouldn't do to fall prey to fear but, as she pulled the other woman closer, hoping that her scant body heat might provide the warmth that Emma so clearly needed, Regina couldn't help the flutter of anxiety that took flight in her chest.

She was reminded of the story she used to tell about David Nolan, about how she'd been a hero and saved him from freezing to death; how she'd been the one to take him to the hospital and get him the help that he needed. _Only_, Regina thought sadly, _that never really happened_; it was just another one of the stories she told that painted her in a positive light. Perhaps she'd always secretly wanted to be a hero, perhaps she'd always wanted to be what Emma Swan truly was. She glanced down at the woman now leaning against her, Emma's head literally on her shoulder. Stories were all well and good when they had happy endings, but now Regina was faced with the grim reality of David Nolan's daughter fading away in her arms.

The panic that she'd been keeping at bay unfurled inside her gut, tendrils reaching up to curl around her heart where they squeezed with unrelenting ferocity. Once again, Regina tried to summon up enough anger to chase it away, but she couldn't chase away the very real body against her own, nor could she dispel the solidity of the feelings that Emma had put inside her chest.

"Miss Swan!" Regina snapped, shaking Emma's shoulder with a less than gentle hand, trying to focus on the help that was coming, that was probably only minutes away. "I will **not** have you expiring in my car, do you hear me? If you die, it will be at **my** hands and **my** say so, not because you've caught a **chill**."

Her voice was staccato, sharpened by what she felt and what she didn't want to – _never_ wanted to, not for anyone and especially not for this…this…Savior. Her mother had always told her love was weakness and that was exactly how Regina felt right now, with Emma Swan barely conscious and cold in her arms. It should have made her feel triumphant, victorious, a winner at last.

"Jesus, Regina, do you always need to shout?" Emma's eyes were still closed and her voice was little more than a mumble approaching incoherence, but it was enough to make Regina's heart leap with a joy she hadn't expected to be able to feel anymore, much less take pleasure from it.

"Sheriff, you've been hurt in a car accident," Regina said, hoping that Emma wouldn't hear the wobble in her voice. "Help is on its way."

"Mm," Emma leant back in the car seat and licked her lips with a painfully dry tongue, the action making a clicking sound before she let out a groan. "Tired…I'm tired…jus' wanna sleep m'kay?"

"No, that is most definitely **not** okay," Regina said harshly, reaching out and jostling Emma until the blonde let out a moan of protest and slapped at Regina's hand with a flapping, lazy, dazed touch. "You have to stay awake, dear," Regina urged. "You have to try and stay awake until help gets here. I think you're concussed."

Emma hummed again and mumbled something that wasn't even proper words, sinking low in the car seat as her head lolled to one side. Regina drew in a sharpened breath, eyes narrowing as she peered outside at the snow that was still falling, the road that was still empty save their vehicles. This simply wouldn't do, she told herself. Because if Emma didn't receive help soon, there could be dire consequences. And _that_ was unacceptable.

Losing Emma would change them all. But finding Emma…well, that had changed her. Regina knew that having Henry in her life had made it easier to endure; had made each day more manageable and bearable. But as she drew the blonde closer to her, Regina also understood that having Emma in her life had done the same. Perhaps it had even made life worth living again.


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

It's late by the time Snow has let David take her home and they have Henry in tow – Snow insisted and Regina is far too tired to refuse – so Regina is alone when she enters Emma's hospital room. The lights are dimmed and there are shadows creeping forwards from the corners, encroaching on the glow from the lamp by Emma's bed and the monitors, keeping time in a repetitive, high-pitched tone.

Regina drops into the chair by Emma's bed and simply breathes for a moment in the relative quiet. The chair is a bucket-seated, plastic monstrosity and it's monumentally uncomfortable, but Regina puts one knee over the other, arranging her skirt with care. She smooths her palms down over it – trying to ignore the wrinkles and creases that bring a tiny frown to her brow – and clasps her hands together over one knee as though she's the First Lady. Being dignified has always come easily: a costume her mother taught her to wear with aplomb and grace.

Sometimes Regina wanted to claw it from her skin and wear something else, _be_ someone else other than the girl her mother made her. But Cora's lessons were difficult to forget, scored in the memory as deeply as in the flesh. Regina's been The Queen longer than she hasn't; much longer than she was an innocent girl, full of hope and goodness.

She lived to regret saving Snow. But it's difficult to imagine having regrets over what she's done today. Emma isn't like her mother; she's lived in the real world too long and suffered too much to let fairytales sway her into a false sense of security. It's one of the things that Regina likes most about Emma – though she'd _never_ admit it – and she takes strange comfort in the way that Emma is cynical about the very things that Snow espouses in her optimistic, painfully naïve way. Yes; when it comes to Emma, Regina feels something very close to hope that their futures, however intertwined, won't be as damaging as the past she shares with Snow.

"Your mother is not pleased with me, I'm afraid," Regina leans forwards a little, her voice sounding horribly loud in the dense quiet of the room. She peers over Emma's body, looking at the other woman's pale features that appear incongruously serene given their current location. "Although there's nothing new there," she adds, with a faint huff of mirthless laughter.

The smile she's forced onto her mouth fades as Regina falls into awkward silence. She clears her throat and wonders why she's still here; why she's insisted upon staying when she's exhausted and hungry and wants nothing more than to slide between the expensive cotton sheets of her bed after a hot, soothing bath.

Regina sighs, moves her chair closer to the bed and looks intently at Emma's features. Her gaze travels from the smooth brow down over closed eyes, the snub nose, the smattering of freckles over the top of Emma's cheeks. Then there's that mouth, so often twisted in anger or scorn when it comes to words that pass between them; a mouth that, when it's curved in a genuine smile, can throw light into the darkest recesses of Regina's heart.

She can lie to everyone else – it's what she's good at, after all. But lying to herself seems pointless at this stage.

Regina knows full well why she's here. And she knows why she'll stay.

"Miss Swan," Regina said, leaning back a little and looking at Emma with concerned eyes. "Sheriff!" she cried, loudly enough so that the sound boomed inside her car and she flinched a little at it. But Emma was immobile: eyes closed, long lashes lying still on her cheek and the wound on her head purpling in an ugly stain on her white, waxy complexion.

"Emma," Regina finally said, her voice cracking over the name; it was so intimate, so personal. It felt foreign on her lips and the tip of her tongue flicked out, licking them as she swallowed her breath and held it for a long moment. "Emma, **please**," Regina hissed, leaning her head close to the blonde's so that their foreheads were almost touching.

"You have to stay with me, Emma," Regina said in a low, tremulous tone. "You have to stop putting yourself in danger like this because you have a son now who needs you. Being foolhardy is only going to scare him and – and he's grown accustomed to you being around. We both have. But mostly Henry," she added hastily, coloring a little.

"Why, he told me only this morning that he was looking forward to going out in the snow with you. Apparently you've boasted to him that you possessed mad skills when it came to building a snowman and I'd hate – **he'd **hate to be disappointed now, wouldn't he?"

She paused and felt her throat constrict. Pressing her lips together, Regina frowned, her grip on Emma's shoulder tightening. "I used to want you to leave Storybrooke and never, ever come back," she whispered, forcing out the words with some effort. "I…I no longer feel that way. I feel…"

Regina stopped as she saw Emma's eyes flicker beneath her lids. Emma's breath came in a whistle of air and there was a tiny murmur of sound spilling over cold, still lips. It was barely anything at all, but it was enough for Regina's heart to leap in her chest and for her to draw Emma closer, placing trembling fingers against the blonde's icy cheek.

"Melted…" Emma's lips barely moved over the syllables, pushing them out with almost superhuman effort, "…your…cold…" The next thing that came from her mouth was a rush of hissing air, but nothing more.

"Please stay with me," Regina implored, forgetting that Emma Swan was supposed to be her nemesis; forgetting that this was her opportunity to have Henry all to herself; quite forgetting _anything_ other than the fact that the woman she held in her arms was the one person she absolutely could _not_ do without. "Please, Emma, don't leave me. I couldn't bear it if you did."

"I suppose you're wondering why I'm here," Regina says, resting her clasped hands onto the edge of the hospital bed, only inches from where Emma's arm lies on crisp white sheets. "And I have to admit, Miss Swan, I've been asking myself the same thing since your parents took Henry home. He's fine, by the way. Worried about you, of course, but otherwise fine."

She pauses, teeth worrying her lower lip and eyes narrowing as she looks at the immobile figure in the bed. It's ridiculous, talking to someone who clearly can't hear you and probably wouldn't want to listen even if they could. But, Regina tells herself, if she's going to do this then she's going to do it _properly_.

Her lips purse as she thinks that it would be terribly helpful to know what _this_ is. She's stuck somewhere between terrified and rash and love will make a fool of her if she lets it.

It's just _so_ difficult to stop it, though. Impossible to pretend it doesn't exist in her life anymore.

"Your mother demanded to know why I didn't use magic," Regina tells Emma. "She wanted me to create fire to warm you and magically transport us back here to the hospital and…I suppose I could have done both those things, but I didn't." Her brow creases as she clenches her hands together and she draws in a long breath, then she lets it out and laughs a little, self-consciously.

"Do you know that there was a time when I wanted for nothing?" Her eyebrows rise as though she's expecting Emma to answer and when there's nothing but silence forthcoming, Regina nods and hums to herself. "Yes," she says, "I could once have almost everything I desired through the careful application of magic. So creating fire and poofing both of us here wouldn't have been much of a stretch."

Regina's hands inch closer to Emma's, lying palm down on the blanket. She allows herself the luxury of reaching out, brushing her fingertips over the back of Emma's hand and she immediately chides herself for being so presumptuous. Ironic, considering that when she was queen she took what she wanted and gave no thought to the permission or willingness of those from whom she stole.

Emma's skin is cool, but not the deathly cold that had crept over her in the car. It's a relief, and Regina sighs, shoulders dropping a little as she gathers up her courage and slides her hand beneath Emma's, fingers curling around until she's holding it tightly in her own.

"It's strange, isn't it?" she murmurs. "When I found you, I didn't even think about magic. I almost forgot I possessed it altogether. I was…I was afraid."

Her voice cracks and she clears her throat, shaking her head and squeezing at Emma's hand as though to take fortitude from a Savior's touch. "All those years where my first instinct was to use magic to keep everyone from me, to keep them where they belonged but with you, I didn't want to do that. What do you think that means, Miss Swan?"

She leans closer now and she can hear Emma's breath, steady and slow and regular. The monitor on the other side of the bed is keeping time with Emma's heart: a metronome of beats that ticks away the quiet until Regina can summon up the wherewithal to speak again.

"I've only ever been frightened for Henry's safety before now. And perhaps my own. Especially when you broke my curse and took it upon yourself to slay a dragon," Regina adds wryly. "But if you wanted to get my attention, Sheriff, then freezing to death is a rather dramatic way to go about it, and I'd really prefer it if you'd follow a more conventional route in the future."

Now she laughs out loud and rolls her eyes. Wishful thinking. Something she'd always been guilty of in the past, until her mother and Daniel's death had quite literally ripped any and all happy imaginings away from her.

"You must promise never to do it again," Regina breathes. "Playing the hero is something I believe belongs to **your** family, not mine. I'm not cut out for it, Emma. And I'm **certainly** not going to become accustomed to the notion that I might lose you. I just – I won't. It would…it would hurt too much, don't you understand that?"

The sob that's thickening her throat lies on her tongue before Regina tamps down on it, swallowing hard and grimacing before she looks at Emma and shakes her head again. "Of course you don't understand," she mutters, "because you're not even listening and that's the only way I can possibly say this to you. I do hope that somewhere in there you are capable of understanding how much I deeply resent this – and **you**, for making me feel this way."

She bows her head, holding Emma's hand between her own. It's a fleeting wish that flutters through her thoughts, but it's there nonetheless. Regina knows that her wishes can't be granted – she used to wish every night when she was a child but still, nobody came to her aid. She doesn't expect it to be any different now.

There's a groan somewhere further up the bed. The body beneath the sheets stirs a little, the hand between Regina's flexing, just once.

"Awww." Emma's voice is scratchy, graveled, but it might just be the most beautiful sound Regina's ever heard. As her eyes fly open and she looks up to see Emma lifting her head from the pillow, there's a crooked smile on The Savior's lips and she blinks sleepily before wincing at what's obviously a painful awakening. "I kinda resent you too," Emma adds, as Regina bends over her. The throbbing in her head is almost worth it to see the look of undiluted joy that floods Regina's features.

Emma gulps greedily at the glass of water Regina holds out to her, a straw poking out of it. After swallowing noisily, she glances down at her hand that's still grasped firmly in one of Regina's and it suddenly becomes clear: the visits to the station, the arguments, the invitations to dinner with Henry and the way that neither of them can stay out of the other's way long enough to figure out what it is they actually feel.

It suddenly all seems pretty straightforward, Emma thinks. So maybe they're both idiots for not realizing before now. Because, with Regina and Henry, Emma feels the best that she's done in a long while. Maybe in forever.

"You're awake," Regina says, finally finding her voice and sinking back into the chair by Emma's bedside.

"You're observant," Emma quips, and is gratified to see the faint tightening of Regina's mouth and the way her gaze sharpens imperceptibly. "And what's with the whole insulting me awake thing? Don't you people usually bring others round with true love's kiss?"

"Those are some rather grand expectations from our first kiss," Regina remarks acerbically, "and it would also require true love. I'm not sure either of us can qualify for **that**."

"Yeah, maybe not **yet**," Emma grumbles, closing her eyes and trying to ignore the incessant pounding of her head, but not before she's seen the glittering pleasure racing through Regina's eyes. "By the way, here's the thing about heroes: you either are one or you're not. And considering you saved my life today, I figure that makes you one. How **you** feel about it doesn't matter."

"Really? I'm sure your mother would have something to say about that." Regina's voice acquires some of the stentorian, regal tone that Emma is more familiar with and she opens her eyes again and grins, this time with a touch more bravado than before.

"She's probably going to have more to say about the fact that we're dating," Emma says.

"But we're not – " Regina starts, then stops because, at this point, denying _anything_ is a futile sort of exercise, and considering the ways in which dinners at her house have turned into something she looks forward to, pretending otherwise isn't going to help at all.

"Oh," she says weakly, settling for the least argumentative option.

"So," Emma groans and gingerly touches her fingers to the bruise on her head before looking up at Regina and shrugging, "apparently I told Henry I've got mad skills in the snowbuilding department."

"You heard me say that?" Regina is aghast. "I thought you were near death in that car and you were, what, eavesdropping?"

"Oh, yeah," Emma says drowsily, her eyes closing once more as she settles back into the bed, "I was totally pretending to die in your arms so I could get you to divulge some of your secrets."

"I wouldn't put it past you," Regina mutters under her breath.

"Ssssh," Emma urges, and then smiles to herself. "So, Regina, do you wanna build a snowman?"

By the time the last word has slipped from her mouth, Emma is heading towards slumber. Her entire body relaxes, head sinking back against the three pillows that Regina insisted upon. It's almost as though she never woke at all, except for the fact that, when Regina tries to remove her hand from the blonde's, Emma simply won't let go.

THE END


End file.
